


under mistletoe

by hito



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:58:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hito/pseuds/hito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles doesn’t think there’s any possible way Derek could react well to finding out they’d broken into his house to deck it out for the holidays. In fact, he thinks Derek might well view that as spiritual graffiti.</p>
            </blockquote>





	under mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to elgraves for the beta. <3 Any problems are my own.

Stiles knows it’s a terrible idea when Lydia approaches him while he’s at his locker juggling books between classes and sandbags him with it. Derek isn’t really the Christmas type, for one thing; for another, Stiles doesn’t think there’s any possible way Derek could react well to finding out they’d broken into his house to deck it out for the holidays. In fact, he thinks Derek might well view that as spiritual graffiti.

So, “No,” Stiles says.

“Come on!” Lydia says, squirming close and grabbing his arm. Stiles counts himself lucky he’s immune to that sort of thing from her by now.

“If he we wanted his house decorated he’d do it himself,” Stiles says firmly.

“He can’t do it,” Lydia says. “All his Christmas things would’ve went up in flames along with the rest of his life. He _needs_ us to do this.”

Stiles will not weaken. “I don’t think so,” he says. Crap.

“Just think about it,” Lydia says, pressing her advantage. “All alone up there without even one single fairy light. He doesn’t have anyone else to do this for him. Don’t you want to do this for him?”

“I don’t want to do anything for Derek,” Stiles says.

“Liar,” Lydia says, removing her breasts from his arm. She knows it’s a lost cause, but she can’t help trying and Stiles can’t exactly blame her: it worked on Danny once. “He’d like it. Nobody wants to be lonely at Christmas and not having any decorations is God’s way of trying to tell Derek that he is a sad loser with no friends. Wrong! We are his friends.”

“Friends. Not interior designers.”

“Oh, come on,” she coaxes, then goes in for the kill. “He’ll be so grateful. He might even demonstrate a little thankfulness with you.” Stiles doesn’t know how Lydia found out about his unfortunate massive crush on Derek, but she never fails to use it against him. Not this time.

“No,” he says, virtuously. Lydia just smiles.

So that’s how Stiles ends up in Lydia’s car speeding towards the Hale place with a ton of boxes filled with all her Christmas stuff in the backseat.

Stiles does realise that Derek isn’t actually going to reward him for this little bit of well-meaning vandalism by taking pity on him and fulfilling one of his many closely held fantasies out of gratitude, but maybe he’ll gain enough of an understanding of the meaning of Christmas not to kill them?

That would be enough for Stiles because this is the worst idea of all the bad, horrible ideas Lydia has ever forced him to participate in. He’s kind of looking forward to it.

It’s going to be fun decorating the Hale place, the least Christmassy house Stiles has ever seen. They’ll make it all cheerful and whimsical and it’ll be awesome. Derek might even like it. He wouldn’t have to admit it or anything.

“Does Derek know we’re coming over?” Stiles asks Lydia.

“No,” she says. “You know he’d never let us do this.”

“You think taking him by surprise with a carful of decorations will be better?” Stiles is onboard with this plan because it’s ridiculous. Definitely not because he’ll take any and every excuse to go over to Derek’s place and have the opportunity to talk to Derek and be around Derek and stare at Derek. He certainly isn’t hoping Derek will be there to glare at him and let him throw around strings of lights. That isn’t the motivation behind this at all; he’s in it for the giggles.

“He’s out,” Lydia says, “idiot.” She swerves sharply, honking her horn at a pickup with a tree dangling out of the bed, tip brushing asphalt. “Moron!” she yells through her windowpane. “We’ll be taking him by surprise with a glorious winter wonderland,” she tells Stiles brightly.

It is pretty sad when Stiles thinks about it, Derek alone in that big house, nobody to share it with, nobody to force him to celebrate, nobody to even throw a little glitter and sparkle around for Christmas. Stiles and his dad put their stuff up weeks ago, same as every year. Same decorations as every year too, but Stiles spots the new ones, he doesn’t know who his dad thinks he’s fooling. Old decorations are the ones his dad loves most though – things Stiles made in school, things his mom bought. Things Derek doesn’t have. Maybe his dad will let him invite Derek over for Christmas.

And okay, Stiles _knows_ this is idea is no good, but it’s going to be so much fun. Plus, even if Derek is as furious as Stiles is expecting, Stiles will still get to stare at his ass while he yells at them. Stiles may not have shame but he does have priorities. They’re more important.

*

It doesn’t seem quite as enjoyable once they’re actually standing in the house, boxes piled haphazardly at their feet. It seems more daunting, then.

“I think we’re going to need a real tree,” Stiles offers.

“—Yeah,” Lydia says. “A big one.” They take a second more to soak in the awful atmosphere and then Lydia claps her hands briskly. “All right!” she says, faking enthusiasm well. “Let’s go. Fake tree for the moment, set it up. I’ll start in on the rest.”

“Should we do his bedroom too?” Stiles asks. “We don’t have enough stuff for the whole place.”

“We’re not doing his bedroom,” Lydia says crossly. “You just want to poke around in there, don’t think I don’t know what you want to get up to. Focus, Stiles. We’ll do the front hall as well.”

Stiles spends quite a time assembling the tree; if Lydia needed someone with that skillset he has no idea why she brought him. Eventually it’s done, and Stiles wipes the sweat off his brow, feeling manly and accomplished. Until Lydia tosses him a box and he staggers under its weight. He spends even more time on the adorning of it, getting everything just so. Lights in perfect spirals, baubles in colour co-ordinated swishes through the green, crystal gewgaws dotted at seemingly random but actually mathematically precise intervals. _Awesome_. Stiles is a genius and his tree is awesome. “I’m not tall enough to put the star on,” he calls to Lydia, “I need something to stand on. I mean, I thought about climbing it, too, but I’m pretty sure it would just fall over.”

“Eh,” Lydia says from behind him. “I suppose that’s okay.”

“ _Okay_?” Stiles says, both incredulous and outraged. “It’s _okay_? What were you expecting, the second coming of the—“ Swinging around to confront her, he breaks off in horror. In absolute _horror_. “—Rockefeller—“

Dismissing Stiles’ tree from consideration, Lydia turns to regard her own work, looking a little apprehensive, but not nearly enough. “What do you think?”

Stiles doesn’t think they can count on Derek’s Christmas spirit to save them from what they have wrought. “It’s very—“ Stiles says, and pauses to gather his resolve. “Burtonesque?”

There’s tinsel, Stiles will say that for it. There’s lots of red tinsel, which in context looks rather bloodlike, strewn over the burnt and blackened remnants of the structure; and there’s strings and strings of gold bells, which are very appropriate compared to the rest of it. There are homemade paper and crepe garlands crisscrossing the ceiling, like how did Lydia even get up there? And there’s some sort of fake snow, draped everywhere, over everything, chairs, walls, hanging from the garlands. Well, Stiles can only assume it’s supposed to be snow; if he didn’t know it was Christmas he would think it were cobwebs.

Lydia slits her eyes at him. “But the Christmassy part, right? Not Halloween, Christmastime. Christmastown?”

Stiles sucks in a breath, exhales hard. “No,” he admits. “No, it’s pretty Halloweentown.”

“No!” Lydia says.

“What the hell!” Derek says.

They spin around like guilty children, each trying to shove behind the other. The pushing match doesn’t end until Lydia trips Stiles and leaps backwards over his prone form.

“Hi, Derek!” she says.

“Ow!” Stiles says.

“Get up,” Derek growls, “you should both be standing when I kick your asses. For dignity.”

Stiles scrambles to his feet. “Please don’t do that.”

Derek makes an irritated noise but doesn’t do any asskicking, so that’s a win. Stiles is getting places with Derek; he can feel it. He’ll be making serious inroads if he survives this. “Lydia,” Derek raps out.

“Stiles, tell him what we were doing!” she says, safely two steps behind him. “It was Stiles’ idea!”

“Liar!” Stiles hisses, but Derek is looking impatient, so he starts gesturing wildly, tongue tangled and tied, blurting out nonsense-sounds.

“Calm down,” Derek says.

“Yes!” Stiles says. A word, that’s a word! “We were just trying to brighten the place up a little,” he says. “For the season. Can’t have your home looking like this...” Derek clearly agrees. “Looking like it did before we started!” Stiles clarifies. “Like it did beforehand. Like it always...looks.” He scoffs, wishing he’d never regained the use of his tongue. “Can’t have it looking like everyday for Christmas!”

“I really can,” Derek says, taking a step forward and getting hit in the face with a cobweb, spluttering and pulling the sticky strands off his face, wiping at his eyelashes futilely. He’s still hot. Cobwebs lose.

“I don’t have more kinds of decorations for the room,” Lydia says. “That’s why there’s so much of what I have. I could buy more types if you don’t like it?” That bit of disingenuousness is clearly not working on Derek.

“I don’t have more decorations for the tree either, but it looks awesome, right?” Stiles says proudly.

“Oh, I have more decorations for the tree,” Lydia says. “I just didn’t open the second box for your stupid temporary tree.”

“Lydia!” Stiles is newly, doubly _outraged_!

“Lydia,” Derek says, “they’re coming down.”

“No!” Lydia says.

“No!” Stiles says. “I spent so long on that tree! My tree is awesome! My tree is a _Christmas_ tree!” Which should be self-evident, but with Lydia’s Halloween decorations it really isn’t. Halloween trees aren’t a thing, but just let Lydia decorate for Halloween: they will be.

“I don’t want a Christmas tree!” Derek yells. Stiles doesn’t even get to stare at his ass while he does it.

“I haven’t even put the star on top yet!” Stiles protests.

“Nobody’s putting anything on anything,” Derek says.

“I told you!” Stiles tells Lydia, because he had. She ignores him yet again.

“I am!” Lydia says. “I definitely am!” She bounces over to her box and comes up with a green sprig in hand. “I am putting _this_ on something. I am putting this mistletoe on your door Derek, because god knows you need it. This whole thing is pathetic.” She throws a long, lingering, meaningful look at Stiles while she says it; does she mean Stiles is pathetic? She’s supposed to like him! They’re supposed to be friends now! He thought she did like him, actually.

“Uh—“ Stiles says, flummoxed.

“No,” Derek says firmly. “No, Lydia. I do not need mistletoe. Take your box back out to your car and your dumb leafs with it. We’ll get started in here.”

Lydia makes a huge fuss, but she ends up by snatching the box and storming out, throwing the mistletoe at Derek on her way.

“We’re taking everything down?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah,” Derek says.

“Disappointing.” It is – Stiles hadn’t really thought Derek would like it, but he had hoped, hoped Derek would tolerate it, would get that they were trying to do something for him. Maybe they crossed a line; maybe Stiles had no right to try to take over Derek’s Christmas. Maybe Derek wouldn’t even want to come over for dinner.

“Why?” Derek asks. “Because I’m not into Lydia’s little fantasy of us kissing under the mistletoe?”

“Uh—“ Stiles says, eyes widening.

Derek steps into his space, crowding forward as Stiles tries to retreat, tugging him close and kissing him, sprig of mistletoe crushed under their feet. Stiles’ heart is hammering so hard he thinks he’s going to drop dead, breath lost to Derek. Derek lets him pull back long enough to inhale, before they dive back in. Stiles’ heart is still pounding, but he can’t stop it, even knowing Derek can hear it.

“Oh!” Lydia says gleefully from somewhere far away. “I’ll just—“

Stiles thinks she leaves, but Derek slows the kiss anyway, licking at Stiles’ tongue, at his mouth as he lifts his head. Stiles doesn’t want to stop, but his hand is already clenched in Derek’s shirt and Derek isn’t responding to the pressure of Stiles’ fingers on the back of his neck, so there’s really nothing he can do short of climbing Derek like he’s the Christmas tree.

“Huh,” he says blearily, blinking his eyes open. Everything’s a little fuzzy, but a couple more blinks sharpen the blur.

“We should start packing Lydia’s stuff up,” Derek says. “I can’t believe she thought I needed mistletoe.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, clears his throat, licks his lips, watches Derek’s eyes track the movement like he’s about to pounce. He does it again and Derek tries to step back, but he lets Stiles hold him there. “Yeah,” Stiles says, voice stronger. “But not the tree. We’re keeping that.” Derek looks conflicted, emotions racing over his face: regret, pleasure, pain, nothing lasting. It will be good for him, Stiles thinks. “But we’re not getting a real one, we’re keeping mine.”

“Fine,” Derek says, straightening.

“No way, come back,” Stiles says. “And you’re coming for Christmas dinner with me and my dad.”

“Fine,” Derek says, resisting Stiles’ attempt at scrambling up his chest to his mouth. That’s okay, just gives Stiles more excuses to touch his chest. Not that he needs them, he thinks, thrilled. “Lydia’s coming back.”

“Lydia can pack up Halloweentown on her own,” Stiles says, and gets back to his main priority.

end


End file.
